


When in Posada

by Leviosally468



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ...but like not really, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Ficlet, Fix-It, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24922495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviosally468/pseuds/Leviosally468
Summary: It had started with a stubborn homage to Posada, his heart having won out a rather heated argument with his brain about pursuing empty fantasies and his pockets lined with hopes that he prays won’t be in vain.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	When in Posada

**Author's Note:**

> Been chattering about how the fix-it will go on tumblr, so this ficlet was birthed from that, plus a lovely sketch by misscuddly_arts on Insta
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_0BRp9Fw12/

It had started simply enough;  
A subtle shift in the normally calm equilibrium of their relationship, a push against an already fragile platonic boundary, a rough chaotic tumble into new territory.  


It had started with a stubborn homage to Posada, his heart having won out a rather heated argument with his brain about pursuing empty fantasies and his pockets lined with hopes that he prays won’t be in vain. There was something poetic in it; something comforting about the lush green landscape that greeted him, something familiar even in the dirt beneath his boots, something almost expectant in the way the warm spring breeze whispered through his hair. It’s as though this place; the very same place he had first felt the draw of golden eyes from a corner table, inexplicably reeled in until he was sitting across from Geralt by what he could only describe as a thread of fate; was _expecting_ him.  


But Geralt did not have the same regard for poetry that Jaskier did…so while his heart staunchly refused to relinquish the dream in the face of this logic…he also wasn’t holding his breath…mostly…  


It’s the latter part of this resolution coupled with the sudden prickle between his shoulders that electrocutes him like a déjà vu from the same afore-mentioned corner of the tavern on the third day that almost sends him tumbling headfirst from the tabletop he’s currently crooning from. He finishes his set hastily, unable to tear his eyes away from the cryptic amber scrutiny holding him captive.  
  
He’s lost count of how much water he’s downed in an attempt to summon the moisture back into his mouth.  
  
He doesn’t blink…  
  
He barely dares to breathe…  
  
He wiggles his toes in his boots, testing the ability of his legs to support him as he makes his way over to the table like a moth toward a flame. A complex wash of fatigue, indecision, and self-doubt tug at the witcher’s angular features as his eyes follow Jaskier’s approach. Despite the dull roar of the busy dinner crowd around them, a strange reverie encapsulates them, and the rest falls away until it feels as though he and Geralt have transcended into a parallel space in time that is all their own. Jaskier fights the urge to pinch himself, to test the reality of it all as the seconds turn into minutes and Geralt’s jaw clenches and unclenches in that way it always does when he’s trying to use more than one word (or grunt) to express his feelings, and that’s really okay because Jaskier could stand here all night drinking in the raw beauty of a man he was afraid he had lost for good.  
  
“Jask--*ahem*…Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice cracks…actually _cracks_ a bit with emotion when he finally speaks and the sound sends Jaskier’s heart fluttering faster than it already is.  
  
“…I’m sorry, Jaskier…” Jaskier swallows thickly as Geralt’s eyes pointedly attempt to bore holes into the scrubbed wooden surface of the table.  
  
“I know…” Jaskier whispers softly.  
  
“You know I didn’t—”  
  
“I know you didn’t…” Jaskier is smiling now as Geralt’s eyes snap back to his face and Jaskier sees something within him visibly relax. Suddenly his hand is cupping Geralt’s cheek which is strange because he couldn’t even remember deciding to put it there, and his thumb swipes soothing circles into the soft stubble of Geralt’s jaw.  
  
“I know you.” The space around them crackles with a strange heat and Geralt’s hand glides tentatively over Jaskier’s own, drawing it into both of his and squeezing it tightly. He considers saying more, but finds there isn’t a need as Geralt’s eyes shudder closed. He guides Jaskier’s fingers to the warm press of his lips, his warm breath puffing gently over Jaskier’s knuckles. They simply exist in the feel of the emotions that swirl in the air around them, a thousand unspoken truths giving weight to an uncharacteristically small number of words even by Geralt’s standards but it’s all they needed to say…all they needed to hear…to feel…it’s enough.


End file.
